I trekked south east from the Starlit Groves, the Beast Vein Continent's rugged terrain giving way to the dusty trails leading to Dusk Bane Outpost.
My pack bulged with the spoils of the hunt: Crested Viper skins, venom sacs, an Iron hoof Elk hide, a few organs, and six bitter blood oranges. And a handfuls of mental fire berries. Their citrusy tang still lingering on my tongue from the one I'd eaten. The ember coil's qi pulsed within me, red scales flickering across my arms as my heightened sense of taste caught the distant scent of smoke, sweat, and steel—Dusk Bane was nearby.
As a bonded cultivator, my offensive strength foundation gave me speed and power, but leveling my beast crystal required resources, and Dusk Bane's markets were my best chance to trade for coin. The outpost emerged from the haze a sprawling cluster of stone-and-timber structures nestled against a jagged cliff. Torches blazed along its walls, casting light on a chaotic blend of trappers bartering pelts, thieves slipping through shadows, warriors clashing in sparring rings, and blacksmiths hammering glowing metal.
Vendors' stalls lined the central market, their shouts mingling with the clang of steel and the low growls of tethered beasts.
My senses sharpened, tasting the air: charcoal from forges, the sour bite of spilled ale, and a faint, acrid note—venom, likely from a vendor dealing in alchemical goods.
I adjusted my pack, the weight of the venom sacs, skins and elk a reminder of my goal. Selling them could fund cultivation resources—elixirs or relics to boost my chi—but Dusk Bane was no safe haven. Thieves' guilds operated in the alleys, and guilds eyed newcomers like me as prey. The market was alive with danger, its noise and motion a kind of camouflage for quiet threats.
I kept moving, my senses sharp, one hand near my coin pouch. Once, a cloaked figure brushed too close, fingers ghosting along my belt—too smooth to be accidental.
I shifted with qi-fueled reflexes, catching their wrist just long enough to meet their eyes. They vanished into the crowd without a word, but I tightened my belt strap and moved on, every nerve alert. At another stall, a crooked vendor with ink-stained fingers offered what he claimed was a "Sacred Relic"—a dull, copper amulet etched with clumsy symbols.
I tasted the air, caught nothing but cold iron and mold. Fake. I handed it back with a flat stare. He smiled too widely and vanished behind a curtain. Outside the guildhall, a heavyset thug leaned against a wall, arms folded, his clan-marked shoulder bare for all to see. He tracked me with narrowed eyes as I passed, cracking his knuckles like a promise.
I kept walking, my scales flickering beneath my sleeves. Even among the lantern-lit stalls and clanging forges, Dusk bane was a hunt all on its own. Every step forward was a choice—every breath a gamble. I couldn't afford to relax. I kept my bow ready, my chi-fueled reflexes primed, as I navigated the crowded market.
My ember coil scales prickled under my uwagi, a subtle sensory warning informing me of prying eyes. Near a stall draped in dark cloth, I caught the sharp, chemical tang of venom on the air.
A wiry vendor, her face scarred and one eye clouded, sorted vials of glowing liquids behind a counter piled with bones and scales.
A sign read: Mira's Elixirs: Potions, Poisons, Powders. Perfect.
I approached, setting my pack down and pulling out the four Crested Viper venom sacs, their translucent membranes shimmering with toxic fluid. "Got something worth my time?" Mira rasped, eyeing the sacs. Her voice carried the edge of someone who'd seen too many deals go sour.
"Crested Viper venom," I said, keeping my tone steady. "Fresh, clean extractions. Prime for alchemy."
Mira took one sac, holding it to the torchlight, her good eye narrowing.
"Good quality. Vipers are tricky—most Hunters botch the sacs." She set it down, her fingers lingering. "Twenty iron coins each. Eighty for the lot." I tasted the air, catching a hint of deceit—her pulse quickened, a sour note in her scent. My ember coil senses were sharp enough to spot a lowball. "Hundred twenty," I countered, leaning forward.
"You know these are worth it. Dusk bane's alchemists pay top coin for clean venom." Mira's lips twitched, half a smirk. "Sharp one, eh? Fine, hundred even."
She slid a pouch of coins across the counter, and I handed over the sacs, pocketing the payment. The weight of the coins felt good—enough to buy a basic cultivation elixir, maybe even barter for a relic if I played it smart. As I turned to explore the market, a shout rang out from a nearby guildhall, followed by the clash of steel. A warrior, his arms covered in beast-like scales, squared off against a thief darting between stalls.
Dusk Bane was alive with opportunity, but danger lurked in every shadow. The ember coil spirit within me stirred, urging me to move.
I could seek out more vendors for the skins and elk heart, visit a blacksmith to upgrade my dagger, or scout the guilds for information on battle-essence rich locations like the Iron Spike Canyons. The bitter blood oranges in my pack were another asset—eat them for qi condensing or sell them for coin.
With my beast crystal hungering for growth, every choice mattered. I gripped my bow, the Ember coil's fire burning in my veins. Dusk bane Outpost was a crucible, and I would forge my path through it. I wove through the chaotic market of Dusk Bane Outpost, the air thick with the tang of sweat, steel, and spices, my ember coil-heightened senses parsing every flavor.
My pack bumped against my back; I needed to hurry up and sell this haul. The hundred iron coins from selling the venom sacs jingled in my pouch, but I needed more to afford the elixirs or relics that could amplify my intent and condense my qi into stronger spiritual fibers.
The Beast Vein Continent's dangers never slept, and neither could my ambition. I approached a vendor's stall piled high with pelts and bones, its owner—a burly man with a marked arm—haggling with a warrior. I laid out the viper skins, their iridescent sheen catching the torchlight. "Crested Viper, clean cuts," I said, my voice steady despite the vendor's appraising stare.
The man grunted, testing the skins' toughness. "Solid work. Thirty iron coins for the lot." I tasted a hint of honesty in the man's sweat—no deceit this time. I nodded, pocketing the coins. Next, I found an alchemist's stall, where a hooded woman offered fifty coins for the Iron hoof Elk organs, her eyes gleaming at its faint qi glow. The elk hide fetched another twenty from a leatherworker. With two hundred coins total, I felt the weight of possibility—enough for a basic elixir, maybe more if I bartered wisely.
As I moved deeper into the market, a narrow storefront caught my eye, its wooden sign etched with a coiling dragon and glowing runes: Martial Tomes. The air around it tasted different—clean, like a mountain breeze, with a faint pulse of qi. My curiosity flared. My ember coil bond gave me speed and power, but raw qi wasn't enough.
Martial Tomes like these could enhance my Spiritual knowledge base, and by extension grow my Meridians. An absolute requirement as a Cultivator. The air shifted the moment I stepped closer. Not just scent—but qi itself. The world slowed a fraction. Even the chaos of Dusk Bane's market dimmed behind me like a distant memory.
I pushed the door open. A bell chimed, soft and melodic—more ceremonial than practical. Inside, silence reigned. Shelves of Darkwood towered overhead, packed with tomes wrapped in scaled leather, bone bindings, and silk cords. Their spines shimmered with faint runes—some elemental, some beast-script. A quiet thrum pulsed in the air, like a heartbeat wrapped in scrolls.
A woman stood behind the counter, still as a sculpture. She wore black robes lined with faded gold stitching, and her long hair was tied in a braided topknot. Her presence didn't just feel calm—it felt anchored, as though the room's feng shui bent around her. "You carry the scent of an ember coil attack type" she said, eyes sharp and clear as jagged ice. "Newly forged."
I tensed. "I'm Ash."
She nodded once. "I...am Seung Lee Kim. Keeper of the Tomes. Martial Historian. Former Practitioner of the Nine Coils." She said with an exaggerated air. "I want to grow my spiritual knowledge," I said. "Level my beast crystal. Fight better. Smarter." Seung's gaze never wavered.
"Then you must learn to refine your intent, not just feed it. Martial Arts is the art of qi and intent alignment. Without intent or spiritual knowledge, raw power is wild and wasteful. With Spiritual knowledge—it becomes a living will." She gestured toward the towering shelves, each glowing faintly with script and embedded beast runes.
"There are many ranks among cultivators," Seung said, stepping around the counter.
"The first level is a Martial Learner. At this stage, you lay the foundation. Meridian growth through procurement of spiritual knowledge, and mastery of self. growing your mental puddle or intent. Qi flow and alignment. This is achieved through breath and movement training. Movements and stances that guide qi energy into structure.
Most Hunters never make it past this stage—they rely on brute qi or instinct. And they die early. The next level is Martial Intermediate, from here you command techniques. Elemental strikes. Spatial dashes. Qi projection attacks. Your beast's traits don't just support you—they amplify your martial form."
She raised a hand, forming a slow, spiraling motion in the air she let her chi flow and condense. A faint ember glow traced her fingers, suddenly the amber glow spread throughout her entire body!
I stared at her in wonderous awe. "The third stage is Martial Artist. At this tier, your techniques reshape the battlefield. Bending terrain, nullifying enemy forms, even commanding elemental spirits born from their bonded beast. She moved to a particular shelf—this one protected by a thin sheen of Intent. Seung dismissed the seal with a flick of two fingers.
"These will serve you will in your cultivation journey."
She pulled down three tomes, each radiating a distinct energy. The first tome was the Sacred Breath Technique, bound in pale-gray leather etched with misty runes.
"Qi runs on breath. Learn to draw, hold, circulate, and release. This technique will strengthen your core, enhance qi recovery, and increase beast crystal resonance. It is the root of all others."
"Master your breath, and your qi will condense." Seung murmured. The next tome was the Cloud Step Technique; it's cover marked with a leaping beast trailing vapor.
"Double-rise. Mid-Air dash. Evasion patterns. Ideal for speed-based foundations like ember coil. Learn not just to move—but to flow through combat like mist through stone."
She eyed me. "A Hunter who cannot dodge does not live long." The final tome was an offensive skill, the Hidden Dragon Palm.
It was bound in storm-hide leather, humming faintly with storm essence. "An offensive hybrid art born from the fusion of draconic wind and beast fire. When mastered, it strikes with explosive force—a sudden burst that can cleave stone. Difficult, but rewarding."
As I touched the tome, my qi and ember coil spirit flickered in response. Fire clashed with wind—but it didn't resist.
It whorled, seeking form. Seung Lee Kim watched me closely. "You have instinct. The Ember coil chose well. But your qi is still wild. These techniques will help you tame it. Practice Breathwork first. Movement second. Then attack."
"Why give me these?" I asked. "They seem valuable. She turned back to the shelf, already halfway through replacing another tome. "I see potential. And the will of the Continent sees storm winds on the horizon. When the storm arrives, cultivators like you will need more than brute strength. You'll need form."
I tried to pay with two-thirds of my coin pouch, but She waved it away.
"Consider it a seed," she said. "Return when it bears fruit."